


The Sandpaper Method

by Surreal



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Circus, Hurt/Comfort, Imported, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 21:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14941709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surreal/pseuds/Surreal
Summary: After a long absence from the circus business, Wyatt Cain returns to the big top as the Emerald Exhibition’s aerial arts safety manager.  What he didn’t expect to find was one Ambrose Gayle and his flying trapeze troupe, the Gayle Royale.  The circus has broken Wyatt’s heart once and he’ll be damned if he will let it break him again.





	The Sandpaper Method

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal on May 10th, 2009. 
> 
> This is an AU. It takes place in modern day Oklahoma, Otherside. Some names have changed (but are drawn from the Oz extended ‘verse); some characters are necessarily different (see cast list). The Emerald Exhibition is a permanent circus ground, the performers and employees live locally (rather than in trailers and tents like traveling circus settings).

**Title:** The Sandpaper Method  
**Author:** Surreal  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Genres:** AU, angst, hurt/comfort, romance  
**Words:** ~8,500  
**Characters/Pairings:** Ambrose/Wyatt  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, belong to proper owners elsewhere.  
**Summary:** After a long absence from the circus business, Wyatt Cain returns to the big top as the Emerald Exhibition’s aerial arts safety manager. What he didn’t expect to find was one Ambrose Gayle and his flying trapeze troupe, the Gayle Royale. The circus has broken Wyatt’s heart once and he’ll be damned if he will let it break him again.  
**Notes:** This is an AU. It takes place in modern day Oklahoma, Otherside. Some names have changed (but are drawn from the Oz extended ‘verse); some characters are necessarily different (see cast list). The Emerald Exhibition is a permanent circus ground, the performers and employees live locally (rather than in trailers and tents like traveling circus settings).

~*~

 

High above the graceful bodies swinging in wide arcs, above the packed dirt floor and practice pads and nets came the rhythmic creak of the trapeze rigging. Like clockwork, the back and forth movement of the skilled performers pulled the ropes taut, the carabiners and shackles rattling with each new swing of the apparatuses connected to them.

“Two,” Ambrose gave the simple command, knowing the woman whose wrists he firmly held would follow through effortlessly. On the second upswing, the both of them released their grips and Azkadellia, better known as Lia, pivoted in the air and caught the taped wooden bar as it came within reach at the perfect time.

Still upside down, powerful leg muscles the only thing keeping him from falling, Ambrose watched as Lia managed a stylish landing on the opposite platform. She turned and smiled at him and he couldn’t help but grin in return.

But before he pulled himself up from his precarious position, Ambrose spotted someone leaning against one of the main tent support beams, watching the practice session while casually eating what could only be a corndog. Though in the current life of the circus, Ambrose had come to realize, more and more foods were becoming increasingly available crammed onto a stick.

Curling his body easily and sliding up to sit on the bar, Ambrose called to his troupe. “Take twenty. Water, lotion and chalk. In that order.”

Performers made their way down the ladders from the platforms. Flyers always had first dibs on the supplies, catchers following in their wake. It was an unspoken law of the aerialists that no one argued. Another law was that Ambrose was always the first up the ladders and the last to come down.

The moment his feet hit the ground, Ambrose made a beeline for the stranger, now more clearly visible as an average sized man in a ridiculous fedora. “First rule of this area – there’s no food allowed.”

With an easy shrug, the stranger shoved the remaining half of the corndog into his mouth, sliding the bare stick out and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. “Sorry,” he tried to say, the apology muffled with his mouth full.

Ambrose was equally horrified and impressed at the display. “That is disgusting,” he finally settled on saying. “Second rule – no one watches our closed practice unless they’ve got my personal consent. Who are you?”

Swallowing a few times, the man stuck out his hand. “Wyatt Cain,” he announced in a low voice. “Your new safety manager.”

Ambrose froze for a moment, then glared darkly. “That’s funny, considering that’s _my_ job,” he snapped, his jaw muscles twitching.

“Your job is to fly and catch,” Cain pointed out bluntly. “That’s enough to keep you busy, far as I can see.”

“Who hired you?”

“Oscar Diggs. You got a problem with me being here, take it up with him. He said your troupe needed my expertise and experience. Called me in, offered me the job.”

Ambrose sighed and ran a hand through his sweat-dampened, uncombed hair. “I’m going to go talk to him. While you’re here and apparently on the payroll, you might as well make yourself useful. Don’t let anyone go up until I get back.” Shaking his head, he turned and headed for the nearest exit.

“Mr. Gayle,” Wyatt called.

Glancing back with a roll of his eyes, Ambrose pointed a finger at Wyatt. “It’s Ambrose. And _what_?”

“Water. Lotion. Chalk up when you get back.”

With a bewildered snort, Ambrose detoured back to the supply table, snagging a bottle of water and his tube of hand lotion. He gave a nod to Wyatt before continuing on his mission.

~*~

“Who is this Cain guy and why is he telling me he’s taking my job?”

Oscar Diggs, ever calm and serene, leaned back in his chair easily. “And a good afternoon to you, too, Ambrose. Wyatt Cain is an old friend of mine and a better man in this business you won’t find.”

Ambrose clenched his jaw, glaring. “He doesn’t have much of an aerialist’s body.’

“I never said he was a performer,” Oscar pointed out smoothly. “Tell me, did you ever take the time to notice the fine print etched into all those little metal clasps and swivels you trust with your life, and the lives of your company, on a daily basis?”

Frowning, Ambrose tried to picture what the circus owner could be talking about. “You mean the brand names?”

Oscar pulled open the second drawer down on his desk. His hand pushed through an assortment of odds and ends before he finally produced a thick silver carabiner, tossing it toward Ambrose. “Flat side, opposite the brand.”

Ambrose squinted at the etched letters. “Patents. E839274. Cain Ent. Wait – Cain? He’s – “

“Been inventing and improving the very equipment you yourself have used for years.”

Grudgingly impressed, Ambrose handed the oblong piece of metal back. “So he’s an engineer. What does he know about what we do up there every day?”

Oscar hesitated, glancing behind Ambrose quickly before answering in a quiet voice. “His wife was Adora Cain.”

Ambrose closed his eyes, his heart jumping. “Damn.”

“It wasn’t easy to talk him back into our world, Ambrose. You _will_ make certain he doesn’t find reason to walk away again. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Oscar sighed, suddenly looking all his years. “You’ve taken on far more responsibility than anyone in your position should, Ambrose. You’re exhausted, you work too many hours and you’ve been losing weight from the stress. The Gayles have reached a performance level that demands a larger safety support team. Only the best for the best.”

Ambrose gave a modest smile. “I thought I was the best.”

Grinning back, Oscar nodded. “That’s why we can’t afford to have anything happen to you.”

~*~

Empty water bottle tucked under his arm, Ambrose worked lotion into his rough, dry hands as strode back to the main tent. He ducked under the flap, dropped the empty bottle into a recycle bin and pulled his lotion tube from his pocket, returning it to its proper place on the supply table.

When he turned around, he paused to take in the sight of his crew. Wyatt was surrounded by the rigging workers, each with a clipboard in their hands. Pencils flew across paper as Wyatt spoke and occasionally pointed to someone or other.

Ambrose waited until the group gave a synchronized nod and scattered in about eight different directions, then walked over to Wyatt. “You just get right to work, don’t you?”

Wyatt barely glanced up from his own clipboard. “No reason to waste time. I’ve kept your teams intact, so don’t worry about being left out of the loop. We were just getting to know each other and going through inspection and contingency lists.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll just go back to doing my job and looking _pretty_ ,” Ambrose snapped, turning abruptly.

“Hey,” Wyatt’s voice was soft but it stopped Ambrose in his tracks. Waiting until Ambrose looked back, Wyatt went on. “I’m not trying to step on your toes, sunshine. You’re a part of my team as much as you’re a part of the show. We’re here to keep you safe and we can’t do that if you’re kept in the dark about anything.”

Ambrose managed a small smile, embarrassed at his overreaction. “Thank you,” he replied quietly. “I know – you’re not the enemy. I’m just used to things they way they are – were. It’s my family up there; my responsibility.”

Wyatt opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated and looked down. “I’m guessing you talked to Oscar. So you know who I am – who my wife was.”

“Yeah,” Ambrose admitted. “But that has nothing to do with my trusting you. What happened – we all know it was an accident. It happens and it – it _sucks_ and I’m sorry – “

A hand held up silenced him and Wyatt gave a jerk of his head toward a more private corner. When they were out of earshot, Wyatt spoke. “I know. Believe me, I’ve been over this more than you can possibly imagine. All right? All I need from you now is to tell me you trust me to keep you safe. Can you do that?”

Ambrose pursed his lips, studying Wyatt closely. “Oscar trusts you. And I trust him.”

“That’s more than I expected on my first day.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Ambrose pointed playfully. “Listen, we’ve got morning wrap-up to take care of, then my afternoon is free. We always stop by noon to get rested up for the evening shows. How about I introduce you around the grounds?”

Wyatt glanced at his watch and shrugged. “I’ll have the teams do a visual on the rigging before we break. Pre-show hands-on checks start at 6. I think that gives us plenty of time.”

Ambrose graced him with a surprisingly sweet smile. The way his nose wrinkled with it made something hitch in Wyatt’s chest. “Back here in half an hour?”

“You’re on.”

~*~

The afternoon flew by in a whirlwind of names and faces, talents and dust devils. The dry heat of late June had everyone carrying water with them at all times, something Wyatt had picked up quickly as a necessity.

First came the rest of the Gayle family: sisters DG and Lia, Ambrose’s second cousins. There was Vince, a well-build but still lithe man who was married into the family through Sora, a fiery, redheaded cousin from another side of the family. They had all informally taken on the Gayle name, though Vince and Sora’s real last name was Sorenson.

Saying Sora’s full name in his head made Wyatt realize _why_ she’d stuck with Gayle.

Ambrose hauled Wyatt around the massive circus grounds, sometimes physically by the wrist, as he proudly introduced Wyatt to other performers and crewmembers. One side of the property held the habitats and holding areas for the animals.

A quiet but friendly man who went by Raw was sitting on a faded, scratched picnic table amid a group of lazy-looking lions and tigers. In the next section over, the trained horses were tended to by their handler, Lilo, who turned out to be Raw’s brother. Attached to the corrals was a large aviary containing an impressive collection of both exotic and local birds, separated into their own sections by hard plastic sheeting. Their keeper was a young man named Callum, a bright and exuberant kid of about fifteen years.

When Wyatt quietly asked Ambrose about age requirements, Ambrose explained that Callum was Lilo’s son. Callum was retained under a strict contractual agreement, only allowing him to work on the show for a limited number of hours on weekends. The rest of the time he was a regular kid, attending the local high school.

As they circled back toward the main tent, they passed by the midway area and Ambrose pointed out an old fashioned tent, the outside cloth made up of a dark and swirling pattern. Leaning against the front wall smoking a cigarette was a beautiful, delicate woman with long blonde hair. “That’s Daisy – she’s the local psychic. And believe me – she’s good at what she does; all the years I’ve known her, I _still_ haven’t figured out all her tricks.”

Daisy gave an elegant wave and graced them with a particularly secretive smile. Wyatt couldn’t help but wonder if she knew what was going through his mind.

It mostly consisted of thoughts about Ambrose.

Since the moment Wyatt had come to watch the practice that morning, he had been unerringly captivated by the grace and strength displayed by his current tour guide. Ambrose moved in the air with confidence found only through experience and devoted practice.

Now, casting a sidelong glance at the man, Wyatt got the same sinking feeling from earlier, when Ambrose had smiled at him. The way he noticed the dark tendrils of unkempt hair stuck to Ambrose’s forehead. How Ambrose strolled easily, showing no sign of self-awareness of his own charm.

Ten years was a long time to be alone.

Wyatt was abruptly brought back to reality when he nearly collided with someone coming around a corner.

For a moment, he thought he had been stricken with heat stroke because there were actually _two_ someones – identical someones. Both women grinned at him coyly and waved in unison.

“Oh! Wyatt – this is Gillian,” Ambrose pointed to one of the women, then to the other. “And this is Lillian. They’re part of our act but they have a separate rig – they’re on the Corde Lisse.”

“Ladies,” Wyatt bent his head in greeting, tipping his hat.

The twins giggled and kept walking. Wyatt looked up in time to see Ambrose roll his eyes. “You really are a country boy, aren’t you?”

“I was raised in Seattle.”

Ambrose stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to determine of Wyatt was joking. “I just can’t wrap my brain around that one. Give me a week and I’ll have a good comeback.”

Wyatt laughed and checked his watch. “It’s almost five. We should get some food.”

“So long as it’s not from here,” Ambrose shuddered dramatically. “There’s a grocery store a couple of miles down the road. Their deli makes the best spinach salads in town.”

“They got sandwiches?”

“Anything you want.”

“Then I’ll drive.”

~*~

That first night was more nerve-wracking than Wyatt remembered it ever being. To see all those performers – DG, Lia, Vince, Sora... _Ambrose_ \- all putting their lives in his hands...it made the roast beef sandwich he’d eaten earlier turn into a hard lump in his stomach.

Every move anyone made was scrutinized, memorized, catalogued. From the pre-show set-up and who had access to the catwalks to the conspicuous absence of the Gayles in the half-hour before the first catcher left his platform and the show began: all of it had found a home in the front of Wyatt’s mind.

Wyatt had his teams in place before the aerialists finally returned from changing into costume. Each of his three teams had a separate task should anything happen during a performance. As he cast his gaze around to check on his men and women, he caught a glimpse of someone making their way down from the catwalk.

“Hey,” Wyatt called, jogging over to the base of the ladder. He reached it at almost the same time as the man reached the ground. “What were you doing up there? Who are you?”

The wiry man rubbed his hands on his legs, giving Wyatt a guarded look. “Bobby Zero. Pyrotechnics. Was just checking the charges I set earlier, making sure the wiring hadn’t been jostled. It’s part of the show. Who are _you_?”

“Sorry,” Wyatt relaxed, extending a hand. “Wyatt Cain, the new safety manager. I must have missed you earlier when Ambrose was taking me around.”

Zero gave a crooked smile, accepting the handshake. “No problem. I respect a man who takes his job seriously.”

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll see you around, Bobby.”

“You, too, Mr. Cain.” With an easy wave, Zero went back to whatever it was he had been doing.

~*~

The first time Wyatt caught a look at Ambrose in his costume, Wyatt nearly choked on his own tongue. The whole troupe had entered from the back, the three women in front. All five performers wore full-body, skin-tight silver suits, the sleeves ending just below the elbow.

Each of the women’s suits had a trail of long fringe running from the top of the left shoulder down to the bottom of the short sleeve. DG’s were a mix of silver and dark, metallic red, Lia had shimmering green strands and Sora’s were a bright, shining orange that nearly matched her curly, voluminous hair. In addition to the fringe, all three also had accents of ribbon that matched each of their colors added to their carefully coifed hair.

They were stunning, no doubt about it.

But it was Ambrose who had caught Wyatt’s eye that night. Ambrose walked with the same confident poise he had all day, but in full costume it was a striking display. The silver costume left little to the imagination, though Wyatt found himself frowning at how skinny the man was.

Turning his gaze upwards, Wyatt took in the way the dark, wavy hair contrasted the bright metallic cloth. Around Ambrose’s eyes was dark eyeliner surrounded by silver, creating an impressive stage effect that could be seen from the audience.

Wyatt drew a slow breath, forcing himself to look away. It was time to focus on keeping those people safe.

~*~

And so it was that three nights every week, Wyatt had the privilege of watching Ambrose emerge from behind the scenes and climb the long ladder up to the platforms. Wyatt kept a close eye on all the performers, tensing every time one of the flyers left the safety of their swing. He only relaxed and breathed easy when every one of them returned to the ground unharmed and exuberant from another successful show.

Sometime around the third week, Wyatt noticed Ambrose gifting him with that special, wrinkled-nosed grin as the troupe passed him by at the end of a performance.

Sometime around the beginning of August, after a month and a half of shared dinners and long talks about nothing at all, Wyatt noticed a subtle shift in the way they were together. Until then, they had circled one another cautiously, keeping their distance in every way.

But then Ambrose stumbled upon Wyatt one night, sometime after eleven o’clock, sitting under the net with his back against one of the support posts.

Ambrose approached quietly, sitting on the packed dirt nearby. “You’re here late.”

“So are you.”

Ignoring this, Ambrose traced his fingers in the soil absently. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Wyatt replied quietly. “Jeb’s off on a band trip to D.C. and the house is too quiet.”

“Jeb?”

Wyatt glanced over curiously, then realized he had never mentioned his kid’s name to Ambrose. “My son – he’s seventeen, going into his senior year of high school. Last few years he’s spent his summers doing drum corp – marching band.”

Ambrose smiled, leaning back against his hands. “Sounds like a good kid. What’s he play?”

“Anything he can get his hands on,” Wyatt shook his head, a bemused and proud smile curving his mouth. “But he marches trumpet.”

“That’s great,” Ambrose said earnestly.

Wyatt nodded. He tilted his head up to look at the net suspended fifteen feet over their heads. “It’s so big.”

“Depends on your perspective,” Ambrose said glibly. “From up there, it’s not nearly big enough.”

“I know,” Wyatt whispered. He pulled his knees up, hugging them close to his chest.

Suddenly Ambrose realized what Wyatt was doing here and he closed his eyes. “You still think about it, don’t you?”

“Every day,” Wyatt replied roughly. He never took his eyes off the netting. “I must have watched the video of that night a thousand times. For _years_ I tried to find some reason, some possible way it could have been my fault. Equipment failure. _Something_.”

Ambrose remembered Adora Cain’s tragic fall from the trapeze, just as he remembered every person who had died in his profession. Her death had been ruled “performer error,” a simple mistake in timing that had her fingers slipping through the catcher’s hand. Had sent her to the edge of the net, catching her ankle and nothing else. She had broken her neck when she hit the ground after the forty-foot drop.

“I can’t imagine having to stand by and watch something like that,” Ambrose said softly, his chest tight in sympathy.

“I didn’t,” Wyatt countered sadly. “I wasn’t there.”

Ambrose looked up sharply. “I thought – “

“Jeb was sick that night,” Wyatt explained hoarsely. “He was seven. Running a fever. So I stayed home with him.”

“God,” Ambrose sighed shakily.

Wyatt grunted, rubbing his eye with the heel of one hand. “How do you tell a sick kid that his mother wasn’t coming home?”

There was nothing Ambrose could possibly say to that. Instead, he slid over so his hip was almost touching Wyatt’s. He waited and after a long moment of silence, Wyatt slowly leaned into him.

Sliding his arm around Wyatt’s shoulders, Ambrose knew something significant had happened. A major shift had taken place and there was no going back.

So Ambrose did all he could do at that moment – he held Wyatt.

~*~

The last week of August had everyone wilting under the heat of the unending sunshine but a sudden change in the weather brought impressive thunderstorms for the weekend. Sunday morning practice was cut short as the storm intensified and that evening’s show was cancelled, as very few patrons had braved the storm and ventured into the park.

Ambrose and Wyatt ended up in Ambrose’s late model Mustang. They sat in the front seat and watched the rain cascade down the windshield. A flash of lightening made them both jump.

Between one clap of thunder and the next, Wyatt’s hand found its way to Ambrose’s thigh and suddenly the storm was far less interesting.

Turning away from the dark clouds and water pouring down the glass, Ambrose met Wyatt’s eye steadily. “It looks like we’ve got the day off.”

“Seems so,” Wyatt replied, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

Ambrose laid his hand on top of Wyatt’s, squeezing it once before letting go. He reached up and turned the key in the ignition, the powerful engine giving a deep rumble as it turned over. “Your place is closer but mine’s empty.”

“So’s mine,” Wyatt told him. At Ambrose’s questioning look, he went on. “Jeb’s corp is in Indianapolis this weekend at Worlds. He won’t be home until tomorrow.”

“Your place it is.”

~*~

The short run from the car to the house still left them soaked through to the skin and they were both laughing by the time Wyatt finished fumbling with shaking hands to get the door unlocked.

Wyatt barely had time to close the door behind him and turn around before Ambrose was there, on his knees and setting cold, trembling fingers to work on Wyatt’s pants. Wyatt’s head thumped back against the door and he closed his eyes. “Jesus.”

Ambrose ignored him, pushing Wyatt’s drenched pants and boxers halfway down his thighs and pushed his nose against the bare belly, inhaling deeply. “ _Yes_ ,” he murmured, his hands gripping the backs of Wyatt’s thighs and his mouth engulfing Wyatt’s cock.

A sharp moan escaped and Wyatt braced his hands against the door, the calluses on Ambrose’s hands achingly familiar but shockingly new at the same time. He looked down, the sight of Ambrose’s rain-flattened hair and blissed-out expression; the barest hint of silver glitter still stubbornly clung to one temple after last night’s hasty post-show clean-up.

With a gasp, Wyatt bent over and cupped Ambrose’s head with one palm. “Ambrose –“

Ignoring the warning and going down with single-minded concentration, Ambrose dragged Wyatt to the edge and pushed him over with such ease it should have been humiliating if it didn’t feel so damn good.

Sliding down to his knees, Wyatt panted and clung to Ambrose clumsily, accepting a searing kiss even as he slipped his hand into Ambrose’s loose jeans. It only took a few tight, firm pulls to bring Ambrose off and send them both tumbling to the floor in an ungainly heap.

Wyatt flung one arm over Ambrose’s stomach, not caring that his pants were still mid-thigh and his ass was hanging out. “Christ, did I need that.”

“Uuugh,” Ambrose groaned and flung his hand up to wipe the dripping hair from his eyes. “I don’t know about you, but my ass is getting cold. Your shower big enough for two?”

Wyatt chuckled and sat up gracelessly. “Come find out.”

~*~

In the weeks that followed that first impulsive encounter, the two of them started to notice the knowing looks they got from their fellow staff. Especially disturbing, at least to Wyatt, was the way the twins would wink at them whenever they passed.

Wyatt mentioned it one day but Ambrose brushed him off with a flap of his hand. “Ignore them. They’re just jealous because I got you. All _they’ve_ got is DeMilo.”

“They? As in, both of them?”

“Yeah,” Ambrose shot him an odd look. “You didn’t know? They’re DeMilo’s girls.” He shrugged. “They all seem happy so no one questions it.”

Wyatt shuddered. “I just can’t imagine anyone willingly climbing into the sack with that man.”

Ambrose hooked his arm through Wyatt’s elbow, grinning. “Then don’t.”

~*~

By the beginning of autumn, Wyatt had become comfortable with the routine of his new job and his relationship with Ambrose. Two or three times a week, usually following a show, they would end up in bed and never really talk about it. It was just something they did. No reason to discuss it.

Then one Saturday night in late October, Ambrose fell.

 

*********

 

As with every moment of every show, Wyatt stood on the sidelines and kept his eye on every move all of the performers made. Every swing of the trapeze, every jump and every landing was burned into his mind. The entire routine was etched into his memory so cleanly that he could predict the timing of every last breath the five aerialists took in during the twenty-minute show.

Ambrose hung with his knees hooked over his bar after a release move, Azkadelllia safely in Vince’s hands. As Wyatt watched, mentally playing the next swing in his brain, there was a sharp jerk on the backswing and the tension on one of the ropes was suddenly and horrifyingly _gone_ , sending the bar vertical.

Wyatt could hear Ambrose’s gasp from the ground but all he could do was stare in disbelief as Ambrose was flung inelegantly back into the corner of the set. There was a resounding thump, bone against metal, when Ambrose’s head hit the support post and his body tumbled down into the net.

“Holy shit,” Wyatt’s mouth formed the words but no sound came out. His whole body went cold. In the next heartbeat, he was grabbing his walkie-talkie and firing off commands, even as he rushed forward under the net, now sagging under the weight of Ambrose’s form. “Team two, get the performers to the ground and signal when you’re clear. Team three, get the medics in here, they’re parked on the east side of the building. Team one, get in position and be ready to lower the net on my mark.”

A flurry of affirmative responses burst from the device in his hand but all Wyatt could hear was the rushing sound of blood pounding in his ears. He tucked the radio into his belt and slid to a halt under the lowest point of the net, looking up into Ambrose’s slack face. Reaching up through the net, he pressed shaking fingers to Ambrose’s throat.

There was a burst of static from his radio. “This is team two, performers are clear.”

Wyatt closed his eyes, counting the fluttering beats against his fingers for another second before letting go and turning. He spotted the ambulance crew waiting on the side, their gurney loaded with equipment. Running toward them, Wyatt raised his radio again. “Team one, we’re clear. Lower him slowly, just like we practiced. Keep the tension even.”

The whole process was agonizing, watching as Ambrose was gradually brought to the ground. As soon as he was down, the medics swarmed and Wyatt could only stand by, shivering despite the warmth of the evening.

“Mr. Cain.”

Wyatt tore his eyes away from the terrifying scene and saw DG, Lia, Vince and Sora were gathered behind him. It was DG who had spoken. “He’s alive,” was all he could manage, but he folded her in his arms anyway.

“Someone should go with him,” Vince said softly, one hand rubbing his wife’s back.

DG raised her head, wiping her cheek. “I’ll go – I’m family, they’ll keep me updated.”

“Vince – stay here for a minute and keep an eye out. No one touches Ambrose’s rig but me.” Taking DG’s arm, he said, “Come on.” He steered her around the netting on the ground, over to where the medics were getting Ambrose strapped down for the ride to the hospital. “Guys, DG’s going to ride over with you; the rest of us will follow later.”

“No problem,” the tall woman with the long ponytail said quickly, waving them forward. “Come on, sweetie – I’m sure he’ll appreciate the company.”

“How’s it look?” Wyatt asked, walking with them toward the exit where the wagon was waiting outside. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ambrose’s pale face, the dark eyeliner and silver accents magnifying the pallor of the surrounding skin.

“There’s no external bleeding but with the force his head hit, there’s a good chance we’re looking at a serious head injury,” the other medic, a short, older man. “He hasn’t shown any kind of response to stimuli and his pupils are uneven and sluggish.”

Wyatt listened and grew colder with every word. The medics loaded Ambrose into the back of the ambulance and Wyatt helped DG up after them. “We’ll be right behind you, kiddo.”

DG nodded and reached over, taking Ambrose’s limp hand in her own. It was the last thing Wyatt saw before the doors closed and the vehicle pulled away in a cloud of dust, lights and sirens blaring into the night.

When he could no longer hear the wail, Wyatt turned on his heel and went back into the tent.

Vince was right where Wyatt had left him, Sora and Lia still with him. Wyatt looked past them toward the other side of the arena, noticing for the first time that Antoine DeMilo had done an admirable job of distracting the crowd from the trapeze accident. The troupe of clowns had come out to give an impromptu performance in the center ring and most of the audience was looking that way, now that the commotion had settled in the trapeze area.

Rubbing his hand over his face, Wyatt rejoined them. “Thanks,” he murmured, crouching down to study the end of the rope as it lay innocently against the ground. Without needing to touch it, he knew it looked wrong.

There was no natural fray, only a small strand of the larger rope looked like it had snapped under stress.

The rest of it, at least ninety percent, was cleanly cut.

Someone had used a razor sharp knife to sabotage Ambrose’s trapeze.

Wyatt felt sick as he stood, swallowing bile. He raised his head and found himself looking at Oscar. The circus owner’s face was blank, but Wyatt could see the worry in his eyes. Walking over to join him, Wyatt shook his head in disbelief.

“Tell me,” Oscar demanded.

“Call the police,” Wyatt told him bluntly. “This was no accident.”

~*~

After the local sheriff took control of the situation and Wyatt had finished answering questions, giving up lists of who had access to the catwalks above the rigging, providing contact numbers and promises not to leave town, he finally managed to escape to his truck and head for the hospital.

The Gayle clan had beat him there, having been questioned first. By the time Wyatt arrived in the waiting room, he found that not only were the four aerialists there but another older couple that he recognized. It was Ambrose’s cousin Violetta and her husband Amos, who also happened to be DG and Lia’s parents. “Violet, Amos,” he greeted them solemnly, shaking Amos’ proffered hand. “Any word?”

Violetta shook her head tiredly. “Not yet.”

Wyatt blew out a breath and sat in an ugly vinyl chair that squeaked when he leaned into it. “This is a nightmare.”

“Do they have any idea who could have done this?” Violetta asked, her voice shaking with barely suppressed anger.

“No, but when they do....” Wyatt clenched his fists on his knees.

Another hour and a half passed before a doctor emerged, an older gray-haired gentleman with a kind face. “You’re Mr. Gayle’s family?”

“Yes,” Violetta stood, leading the others to do the same.

“Well, there’s certainly a lot of you,” the doctor smiled warmly. “Dr. Hank Foster – I’m looking after Ambrose. He’s stable, but scans showed a pretty nasty skull fracture here,” he pointed to the crown of his own head. “There was some bleeding under the bone so we had to put in a drain. Now, he hasn’t regained consciousness yet so we won’t know if there’s any temporary or permanent damage and if so, to what extent. With head injuries, there’s just no way of really knowing what to expect this soon.”

Wyatt kept his arms crossed tight, hiding how badly his hands shook. He couldn’t absorb what the neurologist was telling them; that Ambrose may have _brain damage_...it was just too much. “Where is he? Can we see him?”

Dr. Foster tucked the clipboard he held under his arm, casting his eye over the group. “Since he is stable, we’ve got him set up in a private room – this certainly isn’t the first time we’ve seen Ambrose around here. Now, I can let you see him for a few minutes but I’m afraid policy is no more than one family member can stay past visiting hours.”

With that, the whole group followed the doctor’s lead upstairs to the fourth floor and down a quiet corridor. Ambrose’s room was dimly lit and at first all Wyatt could see was the faint outline of a body on its side, tubes and wires trailing into and out from under the thin blanket.

“Oh, _Ambrose_ ,” Violetta whispered, slipping into the room and going over to stand by the bed. “Is there a chance he could wake up tonight?”

Dr. Foster circled the bed and leaned down to inspect the back of Ambrose’s head. “We’re hoping the swelling in his brain will continue to go down the way it has in the last couple of hours. So long as he keeps improving, he may start showing signs of waking up.”

“Mom, one of us can stay with him,” Lia said, soliciting nods of agreement from the others.

“The lot of you need to get some rest,” Violetta countered with a raised eyebrow. “I bet none of you even took the time to get some water or take care of your hands before coming here?”

There were enough shared guilty looks passed around to convince her that she had guessed correctly.

It was Amos who rescued them. “All right. Vince, please take Sora and the girls home. I’ll head over to Ambrose’s place and pick up a few of his things.” He turned to his wife. “You sure you’re all right to stay?”

“Of course,” Violetta replied, trailing one finger down Ambrose’s open palm. “I’ll call if anything changes. Oh – Mr. Cain!” She raised a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I’d almost forgotten you were here. Please, you’re welcome to stay with Ambrose, of course. We can take turns keeping an eye on him.”

Wyatt nodded silently, still in a daze and unable to take his eyes off Ambrose. He finally managed to look up at Violetta, her face full of concern and sympathy. “Sure,” he rasped. “I’m just – I’ll be right outside.”

But as soon as Wyatt left the room, it was all he could do to make it to the nearest bathroom before he threw up.

~*~

A night spent in a hospital was painfully silent and agonizingly lonely. Wyatt sat in a chair in the hallway outside Ambrose’s room, listening to the steady beat of machines muffled by the closed door.

He remembered, too. Just one night before, at Ambrose’s house after the show. They’d stumbled into bed amid a whirlwind of clothes and kisses. _Ambrose pushed him onto his stomach and slipped wet fingers into him, one at a time, all the while kissing the back of his neck, his shoulders, his mouth. The sound of Ambrose rolling on a condom sent shivers through Wyatt’s body and he spread his legs, lowering his head onto his hands. The way Ambrose groaned as he pushed in, so carefully, and just stopped to enjoy the connection..._

Wyatt woke with a jolt when a hand touched his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, looking up to see Violetta standing over him with a small smile. “It’s your turn, if you’re up to it.”

“Thank you, I’d like that,” Wyatt answered, standing stiffly. “What time is it?”

“Nearly six in the morning,” Violetta replied, stretching her arms over her head. “Not so much as a sound out of Ambrose yet.”

“You look exhausted,” Wyatt told her. “You’re sure you don’t want to go home for a few hours, get some sleep in a bed?”

Violetta shook her head minutely. “Not until I know he’s going to wake up. I can’t – “

“Yeah,” Wyatt nodded. “I know.” He scratched the back of his neck then pushed open the door to Ambrose’s room, closing it behind him quietly. The curtains had been pulled closed so the morning sun wouldn’t bother the room’s occupant, who was facing the window.

With a sigh, Wyatt took the seat next to the bed and settled in for another long shift.

~*~

Ambrose didn’t really wake up the way Wyatt had always thought of as ‘waking up.’ Rather, Ambrose kind of drifted in and out of consciousness, aware enough to know he wasn’t alone and to respond to a touch on his hand with a curl of his fingers. The whole first day was like that, Ambrose half-tracking his visitors with his eyes and giving them a crooked smile when he could.

With the trapeze show shut down pending the police investigation, Wyatt had nowhere else to be but with Ambrose. He’d called Jeb on his cell phone early in the day and explained what had happened and where he was. Jeb’s supportive and understanding response had made Wyatt’s chest fill with pride; his son was a fine man. Wyatt knew Jeb would be okay, as he had his own car and took good care of himself.

By Monday evening Ambrose was able to speak in full sentences and Dr. Foster had been pleased with the results of the latest scans of Ambrose’s brain. The swelling was nearly gone, the hairline fracture lining up well now that the pressure had diminished.

Wyatt ran his fingers down Ambrose’s arm when they were once again alone for the night, the rest of the Gayle clan having headed home with the knowledge that Ambrose was getting better. “What’s my name?” he asked, continuing the tests of Ambrose’s short and long term memory at the request of Dr. Foster.

“It’s Wyatt,” Ambrose said with only the slightest slur in his voice. That too had slowly disappeared throughout the day. “And I’m Ambrose. And that’s my jello.”

Wyatt grinned and set the cup of green gelatin back on the tray resting on the side table. “If you want it so bad, you’ve got to sit up to eat it.”

Ambrose sighed but slowly shifted in the bed, eventually making it onto his back. He closed his eyes and rested for a few moments. “This sucks.”

“I know, but the doctor wants you to start sitting up for a few minutes at a time,” Wyatt reminded up. “Something about making sure the blood in your brain is circulating properly.”

“It makes me dizzy,” Ambrose grumbled but gripped the side rails anyway. He waited until Wyatt’s arm was firmly round his back before pulling himself up. Vertigo overwhelmed him and he leaned forward, moaning. “Oh, cripes.”

“You’d better not throw up on me again,” Wyatt said lightly, one hand smoothly rubbing Ambrose’s back. “Slow breaths. Fifteen more seconds and I’ll let you lean back. I got the head raised up just the way you like it.”

Ambrose whimpered but remained upright, counting down the seconds in his head before Wyatt let him relax. He sighed in relief when he hit the pillows, the top of his head above the edge as it was still tender. “Might need to wait on the jello for a bit.”

“It’ll keep,” Wyatt assured him. “That was longer than last time.”

“I hope this goes away soon,” Ambrose said wearily.

~*~

Dr. Foster pointed to a spot on the blurry, swirling rainbow of color that was Ambrose’s brain. At least, a computer generated version of it. “Keep in mind, it’s only been a week since your fall, so there’s every reason to assume progress will continue. However, this area here hasn’t exhibited improvement at the same pace. It is most likely the reason for your continuing problems with balance and vertigo.”

“But it’ll get better, right? Like all the other stuff?” Ambrose questioned nervously, studying the incomprehensible picture. “I mean, balance is kind of an important thing in my line of work.” There was a long pause and Ambrose looked up, not liking the look on the neurologists’ face. “What?”

“Ambrose,” Dr. Foster started, glancing over at Wyatt. “Considering the nature of your injury, I can’t allow you to get back on the trapeze. It’s just too risky, even with projected recovery following neurological and physical therapy. I’m sorry.”

Ambrose closed his eyes, leaning his head against his pillow. “Sure,” he mumbled, holding up the picture for Dr. Foster to take. “Here. I’ve seen enough.”

Dr. Foster took the image and looked at Wyatt, who just gave a shake of his head. “Emily’ll be here in about an hour, you should rest up while you can. I hear she’s got plans to walk you to the end of the hall and back.” With a gentle pat to Ambrose’s hand, the doctor left the two of them alone.

“Bullshit,” Ambrose swore, kicking his foot against the covers. “No one tells me I won’t climb up there again.”

“Ambrose – “

“No,” Ambrose cut him off angrily. “I’ll get better. You’ll see.”

~*~

It was Oscar who came to tell them that someone had been arrested and charged with attempted murder. It was also the same day Ambrose was being released from the hospital after a week and a half of observation and therapy. He would continue as an outpatient, seeing Emily Foster three times a week.

“Zero? The fireworks guy? What does he have against me?” Ambrose tilted his head in confusion even as Wyatt was busy putting Ambrose’s shoes on him. Ambrose had long since gotten over any embarrassment about others helping him with these kinds of simple tasks; bending over to tie his shoes still made him dizzy.

“Nothing, actually,” Oscar answered. “It seems that our Mister Zero has a ‘thing’ for our Azkadellia. And since she is so very dedicated to the Royale, Zero figured the only way to distract her away from the act, thus giving him a chance to attract her attention, was to cause a little accident.”

Wyatt seethed, partially because it had never once occurred to him that someone on the staff might be responsible. Hell, they were all _family_ , by blood or by choice. “So he took advantage of his access to the catwalks, took a little side trip over to the rigging with a knife. Son of a bitch.”

“He knew the timing of the show as well as anyone,” Ambrose said quietly. “All he had to do was cut the rope enough so that my weight combined with hers, along with the tension from the swing, would make it snap after I let her go. It was a hell of a risk he took, putting Lia in danger like that.”

“He tried to _kill you_ ,” Wyatt roared, jumping to his feet and pacing a few times restlessly. “He wanted to break up the Royale so he could get a damn _date_.”

“So he confessed to it?” Ambrose ignored Wyatt’s outburst and kept his attention on Oscar.

Oscar nodded. “There won’t be any trial. Zero is so ashamed of his own actions I won’t be surprised if he begs for life in prison.”

“So long as he’s far away from us,” Ambrose leaned back on his hands. “Thank you, Oscar.” He paused, uncertain. “Listen. I’ve already talked to the others and we’ve decided the act can’t keep being postponed. I have no idea how long I’ll be out but at least they can fill in with one of Amos’ students from the training facility for now. He said there’s a couple of guys ready to step in and catch, at least in a modified version of our show.”

“That’s good to here, Ambrose,” Oscar gave a tight smile. “You take it easy, you hear? Don’t go giving Wyatt a hard time.”

Ambrose grinned and gave a wink. “Oh, I’m not so sure he would mind that.”

“Ambrose!” Wyatt sounded positively mortified and Ambrose turned to see that Wyatt had turned a satisfying shade of pink.

~*~

A month after the release from the hospital, Wyatt set out on a search for Ambrose. He hadn’t come home after his afternoon therapy session and Wyatt was beginning to worry.

Then a disquieting thought occurred to him and he turned his truck around in the middle of the empty interstate, heading down the road toward the circus grounds. Unlike Ambrose, Wyatt had returned to work when the show was restarted, but it wrenched his heart to watch it knowing Ambrose would never be rejoining them up there.

So when Wyatt pulled up alongside Ambrose’s Mustang in the otherwise empty lot, he was not surprised.

What he saw when he entered nearly gave him a heart attack, though.

Sitting silently on the static trapeze, ten feet above the safety net, was Ambrose.

Wyatt’s first reaction was to yell, but luckily he stopped himself, not wanting to startle Ambrose. Instead, he made his steps as loud as he could as he ran over to stand at the side of the net looking up. “Ambrose, you’d better have a good reason for being up there.”

Ambrose looked down at him, his head leaning on one of the bars and his expression incredibly sad. “I wanted to see if I could.”

“Could what?”

“Do this,” Ambrose waved his arm vaguely. “Be up here again.”

Wyatt swallowed thickly. “Ambrose, I need you to come down now, okay?”

“I can’t,” Ambrose answered, sounding almost bewildered.

“What’s wrong? Why can’t you?” Wyatt studied Ambrose with fear clenching his heart. He noticed now just how tightly Ambrose’s hands were gripping the parallel bars.

Ambrose closed his eyes. “Every time I look down I get really lightheaded.”

“Okay,” Wyatt took a step closer. “Ambrose, I need you to listen to me now. All right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You trust me, right?”

Ambrose chuckled shakily. “You know I do.”

“Then close your eyes,” Wyatt instructed him. “The net is right here, just a few feet under you. All you need to do is fall back and let it catch you.”

Ambrose held onto the rig for few more tense moments but Wyatt didn’t have to ask him again. Slowly, Ambrose’s grip loosened and he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let his body relax and fall. The net caught him easily and Ambrose rolled twice before coming to a stop on his back. “Wyatt, what am I going to do?”

Wyatt hesitated, unsure of what Ambrose was asking. “I don’t understand.” He walked under the net and came to a stop under the dip of Ambrose’s body. His mind drew up images from the last time he had been in this position and he quickly banished them. Now was not the time. Instead, he reached up and pushed his hand between the strands of netting so he could lay his hand on top of Ambrose’s. They both curled their fingers together in a familiar, comfortable weave.

“If I’m not on the trapeze, what good am I? I don’t know how to _do_ anything else,” Ambrose said vehemently.

“What about teaching?”

Ambrose rolled onto his side so he could look at Wyatt through the net. “At the facility? With Violetta and Amos?”

“Sure,” Wyatt nodded. He licked his lips once before going on. “In fact...I may have a student for you.”

“Oh?” Ambrose’s expression became interested. “Who?”

Wyatt straightened. “Jeb.”

“Jeb? Your son?” Ambrose’s grip on Wyatt’s hand tightened. “I – but he’s – “

“He’s been talking about it since he was four years old,” Wyatt admitted hesitantly. “Adora used to work with him in the gym, just little acrobatic things for a kid his age. But when she died...he gave up the gymnastics for about a year before deciding to come back to it. I told him if he still wanted to learn trapeze when he turned eighteen, I’d help him find a good place to study.”

Ambrose’s eyes were wide. “You’d trust me with your son?”

“I trust us _both_ with him,” Wyatt corrected quietly. “Together.” He pushed up on the balls of his feet, just enough for him to give Ambrose a tender kiss, the net still between them. “What do you say? You ready to climb down?”

Ambrose must have realized that Wyatt didn’t just mean climbing down from the net, because he drew a shuddering breath before nodding. “Yeah. So long as you’re there to catch me.”

And Wyatt was right there at the edge of the net to guide Ambrose down, helping him regain his balance.

~*~

Wyatt walked into the practice building on a Wednesday afternoon. Jeb had turned eighteen in February and he began working with Ambrose in March. The two of them had always had a good relationship; Jeb had been pleased to see his father happy with someone for the first time since Adora had died. As much as he missed his mother, Jeb had always seemed to understand that someday Wyatt might fall in love again.

“How’s he treating you?” Wyatt called to Ambrose, who was standing at the edge of one of the thick practice mats and scowling up at Jeb.

“Your son is infuriating, argumentative, and demanding,” Ambrose huffed, pointing to the young man in question. “I’m positive he gets it from you.”

Wyatt laughed so hard he had to sit down, earning him a kick to the shin.

He had a feeling he’d be paying for that later tonight as well.

*********

End

 

**********

 

CAST:  
Ambrose Gayle– Lead Trapeze Performer  
Wyatt Cain – Safety Manager  
Jeb Cain– Wyatt’s kid  
Oscar Diggs (Mystic Man) – Owner, Emerald Exhibition  
DG (Gayle)– Trapeze Performer  
Lia (Azkadellia) Gayle – Trapeze Performer  
Vince (VySor) Sorenson (Gayle) – Trapeze Performer  
Sora (human Xora) Sorenson (Gayle) – Trapeze Performer  
Violetta (the Queen) and Amos (Ahamo) Gayle – Trapeze Performers (retired)  
Zero – Pyrotechnics  
Raw – Lion tamer  
Lilo – Horse act; Raw’s brother  
Callum (Kalm) – Bird act; Raw’s nephew  
Antoine DeMilo – Ringmaster  
Gillian and Lillian (DeMilo’s twins) – Corde Lisse  
Daisy (Air of Day) – Fortune Teller  
Hank Foster – Neurologist  
Emily Foster – Physical Therapist

~~ **Note:** “The Sandpaper Method” refers to one technique aerialists use to toughen the skin on their hands, creating calluses to prevent blisters from the trapeze bars.

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trapeze>  
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Static_trapeze>  
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corde_lisse>


End file.
